


Arrangement

by campsearchlight



Series: The Hawk and the Wolf [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age II Quest - A Bitter Pill, Fenris crushed that bitch’s heart and also hawke’s in the process, Hawke is a mage but doesn’t really use magic, Other, don’t worry tho, they make up in the end (eyes emoji), they’re actually really a rogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 14:17:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18802012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campsearchlight/pseuds/campsearchlight
Summary: “Tell me to go, and I shall,” he said, his voice low.“Why would I want you to go?” they asked, confused. He had apologized; they had forgiven him. And that was that, wasn't it?“Because I insulted you,” he said. “Because I’m rude, arrogant—and some might saybroody. Because you deserve so much more than someone like me, who will insult you, and then leave without another word.”“Fenris…,” they said—and then it became clear. He wasn't just asking to stay. He was asking to staywith them. They felt lightheaded as he moved almost imperceptibly closer.





	Arrangement

“We are done here.” Fenris stalked past Hawke, nearly bumping their shoulder. 

They turned, following his path. “Fenris—we should talk about this—”

He spun around, cutting them off with the suddenness of it. His voice split the air like a whip. “No, I don't want to _talk about it_. This ‘sister’ could turn out to be a lie, a trap. I’m not dull enough to fall for it. Besides, all that matters is I got to crush this bitch’s heart. May she rot—and all other mages with her.” They thought he might spit on Hadriana, but he turned away. 

Hawke reached out to Fenris, their chest aching. Their fingers barely touched the ridges of his markings on the underside of his bicep. “Fenris, wait—”

Before they could finish, he wrenched his arm away. His eyes flicked to theirs, his dark brows drawn together. His upper lip pulled back in a silent snarl. “Don't. What has magic touched that it did not spoil?”

They dropped their hand. Surely, he didn't mean that. Even if he did, they kept a carefully composed expression. There was no way they wanted the others to see them cry. 

He must have realized how scathing his words were, because his expression softened slightly. He lifted a gauntleted hand to his forehead, began to turn again. “I… need some air.” He left the way they had come, but Hawke stood still. 

“Maker,” Varric said, somewhere to their right. “You alright, Dasher?”

Hawke blinked at the shadows of the passage he had disappeared through. They said nothing, as there was nothing to be said. It could not be denied: Fenris must have always hated the very core of their existence, and trying to change his mind would be like trying to sway a mountain. 

“Hawke.” This time, it was Isabela. She planted herself in front of Hawke and leaned in close so her face took up their field of view. “Don't listen to him. He’s confused about the possibility of having a sister he didn't know about, and he lashed out at you. It’s nothing you did. You know he considers you a friend.”

At the moment, that was difficult to believe. 

“You're probably right,” Hawke made themself say as they met Isabela’s intent gaze. “But, we should go.”

Varric looked over the still form of the woman sprawled out on the floor. “What about Hadriana?” 

“Leave her to rot,” Hawke said, stepping around Isabela to follow the path Fenris had just taken, “like he said.”

* * *

It was the next evening when they made it back to Kirkwall. They hadn't seen any sign of Fenris on the way back, but none of them were surprised; the elf traveled faster on his own, and he never left a trace. 

Hawke wished Isabela and Varric a good night, and the pair made their way to the stairway into Lowtown. 

Hawke pushed open the door to their estate and stepped inside. They hung up their daggers by the coats, kicked off their boots. They would remove the armor upstairs, in the privacy of their bedroom. 

They headed through the foyer—and stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of Fenris. He had gone home to shed his own armor and change into his version of civilian attire: a loose linen shirt, fitted breeches, bare feet. Now he sat hunched over on one of the benches lining the wall, his naked fingers laced over his neck.

He looked up at them when they came into view, and then he stood. “Hawke.” 

“Fenris,” they said, automatically. “You're here.” They wanted to slap themself across the face. Of course he was here. He wasn't _not_ here. 

“Yes,” he said, as if to confirm that they weren’t dreaming. “Bodahn let me in. I hope I’m not intruding.”

They had had a while to think as the rest of the troupe traveled back to Kirkwall. They realized that Isabela was, of course, absolutely right. Fenris had been upset, and he lashed out at the first person to offer him any form of comfort. Hawke could understand that, and they could forgive it. Besides, they wanted nothing more than for things to go back to normal.

“No,” they said. “Not at all. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Pleasure,” he repeated, and chuckled ruefully. “I came here because I wanted to apologize for what I said to you yesterday. You've helped me through so much when you could have easily brushed me off—and I snapped at you like a wild animal. You deserve better than that. Words cannot express how truly sorry I am.”

They blinked, unsure how to respond. Then, they asked, “Was there truth to it?”

He hesitated. “Truth to what I said?”

“That magic spoils everything it touches,” they clarified. 

His mouth shifted into a grimace. “I would be lying if I said no. But, I believe you to be the exception.”

“I’m not sure if I believe that.”

His grimace turned into a frown. “I also wanted to explain to you why I was so angry.”

They folded their arms over their stomach. “I’m listening.”

It took him a while to begin, his eyes cast downward. “While I was a slave, Hadriana tormented me. Denied my meals, hounded my sleep. I was powerless do anything because of her status, and she knew it. The thought of her slipping from my grasp now… I wanted to let her go, but I couldn't.”

“What do you mean?” Hawke ventured. 

“This… _hate_. I thought I had gotten away from it, but it follows me no matter where I go. To feel it again… That it was they who planted it inside me… It was too much to...” He sighed, shaking his head. “Ah, but I didn't come here to burden you further. I’ll take my leave.” He started toward the exit. 

Hawke inhaled sharply, causing Fenris to stop and face them. “You aren't a burden,” they told him. “I don’t go around killing for just anybody, Fenris. We’re friends, whether you think so or not.”

His expression was indecipherable. “May I be plain with you, Hawke?”

“Always,” they replied. 

“As I headed back to Kirkwall, I knew I’d hurt you, and I hated myself for it. But, I couldn't make myself turn back. And, since I stormed off yesterday, I have been thinking of you.” He took a subtle step toward them—or it _would_ have been subtle if they hadn’t been studying his movements closely. “I have been able to think of little else, actually.”

Their head drew back in surprise. “I’m…” He didn't seem one to admit something like that. Should they be flattered? 

He stepped toward them. They looked up into his face curiously. 

“Tell me to go, and I shall,” he said, his voice low. 

“Why would I want you to go?” they asked, confused. He had apologized; they had forgiven him. And that was that, wasn't it?

“Because I insulted you,” he said. “Because I’m rude, arrogant—and some might say _broody_. Because you deserve so much more than someone like me, who will insult you, and then leave without another word.”

“Fenris…,” they said—and then it became clear. He wasn't just asking to stay. He was asking to stay _with them_. They felt lightheaded as he moved almost imperceptibly closer. “You can stay, if you'd like. I'm not one to command you to do anything.”

His brows rose, and then he gave a small smile before taking their face in his hands. 

They swallowed hard and closed their eyes. 

His mouth was on theirs moments later, moving slowly, cautiously. When they lifted their hands to his shoulders, he pushed them gently up against the wall and pressed his body against theirs. 

The hard edges of Hawke’s armor dug into their back uncomfortably. They broke the kiss to say, “I should probably get out of this armor first.”

His eyes half-lidded, he murmured, “Mhm. I can help with that.” 

They realized after a moment that he was waiting for their consent. They nodded, hoping it didn't come across as too eager. 

That was all Fenris needed. He bent at the knees suddenly, placed an arm across the back of their knees, and scooped them up easily. He crossed the main room, bounded up the stairs, and brought them into their bedroom. After making sure the door was closed—Hawke reached out to turn the lock—he set them on their feet in front of the low fire in the hearth and brought a hand to the straps keeping their shoulder armor in place. He gave an almost playful tug as he peered into their eyes. “May I?”

“Yes,” they said, breathless. 

The process was made swift by the deftness of his motions. He had the armor off in half the time it would have taken them to do it. And then, he was kissing them again, one hand cupping their chin, the other sliding slowly down to their hip. His fingertips pressed into the softness there, and he sighed against their mouth. 

“If it would please you,” he said, flexing his fingers at their hip, “I’d like to help you undress.”

His tone alone sent a pleasant shiver through them. 

“You first,” they said. 

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I must insist, Hawke.”

“Is this how you usually do things?”

He pulled back to look at them, though they were still pressed together. “How I usually…? I've never done this before. Or, I don't remember having done this before.”

Their lips popped apart in surprise. “You? I would've thought…”

“You would have thought what, Hawke? That I would be more experienced?”

“I would have.” They smiled slightly and ran their hands down his chest. Could they possibly be his first? It was a strange thought, but they wouldn’t let it shake their confidence. 

He simply chuckled, lowering his face to theirs. 

When he kissed them this time, their knees felt weak. He held them more firmly as he moved them to the bed. He laid them down gently and trailed kisses from their mouth down to their collarbone. When he rose, they opened their eyes to watch him disrobe. Expanses of tan skin interrupted by the silver swirls of his markings—Hawke drank it all in, fearing for a brief moment that this would be the only time they would ever get to see him like this. 

The underclothes were the last to go—forest green, they noted, as if they would gossip to Isabela and Varric about this later—and then he slid under the covers with them, positioning himself just so to kiss them without crushing them with his weight. The little noises he made in his throat sent flames singing through their veins. 

Though he claimed he did not recall ever doing this before, Hawke had a hard time believing it. He seemed to know _exactly_ what he was doing. The way he moved with them—he corrected himself smoothly, his posture, the rhythm, the angle. They wondered if he was working too hard to please them with no regard to his own—

He paused to swiftly flip their position. 

Hawke settled on his hips with a surprised huff. “Wh...?” They couldn’t find the breath to continue asking what his intentions were. They could barely even see straight. 

“Your turn,” he purred, pressing his thumbs into sweat-slicked thighs. He looked up at them— _smirking?_ “Can’t let you have all the—”

A roll of Hawke’s hips caught his breath in his throat. 

They bit their lip at the reaction it elicited. “All the what?”

“The, ah... hmm...” He bit into his bottom lip as his hands guided their hips in the same slow revolution. “You could... keep... doing that... if you...” The thought dissolved into a low moan, and Hawke couldn’t pull another word out of him after that. 

It was clear—by the time they both lay flat on their backs, panting and grinning—that things between them would most certainly not be going back to normal.


End file.
